Seeing as I'm one work day away from fucking off for four whole weeks, I'm interested in how much time away the employed people of Bedrock-forum will be taking. The Americans probably not at all, lest they get viewed as lazy.

Thanks. But I have been reminded in every updated email signature at work, that I have received from Denmark: "Have a happy holiday "

I'm British. Which = working my fingers to the bone, while Scandanavians sit naked in their summer homes eating cracker bread, liquorice and supping Tuborg.

Have a good one, Hannu. And make sure the door bangs your spotty buns on the way out will you.

it reminds me if an unsavoury episode in the city many moons since past.

it was boiling and as was my penchant ,a gram of kibble was required ,to face the wife that evening in some sort of trancendal state as i couldnt stand the fucking cunt.

off i went to secure said purchase.things being as they were i got cunted in the bar and razed the lot,so another purchase was the order of the day.

it was a very hot summer and the purchase had been incubating in my suit pocket for some time.by the time i got back to work

the fucker had absorbed all the moisture and became that pasty unusable shit that we all know so well.

in the staff kitchen i go and place the lottery ticket in the microwave(i was fuckin flying by now)when the M.D. came in (the cunt has an MBE) And is fanatical about stamps.he positioned himself in front of the micro and started talking about fucking japenese stamps that were printed upside down or ones where the queen mums tit is missing that are worth £50 million quid or some shit like that.

the micro was cracking away like popcorn while this boring arsehole witered on and on.praying to god he wouldnt ask what was in it, i said "oh my toffee is burning " he looked at me like Dr Mengele does twins with similar hair growth patterns, and he fucked off sharpish.

all that was left was a burnt caramel like substance which i necked anyway. fuck me it was horrible.

It's the aliases on top of other aliases that require real skills. Stacking up the aliases like the cornflake boxes on an Asda nightshift, aisle 16. Or like some demented scene from Inception. Once you are 5 aliases in, only a tweak from the missus of your plums can bring you right back out of it again. And back into your armchair with your Lenovo laptop burning fiercely onto your thighs, and drool hanging out of your mouth.

Strudders. Haven't you done this before? Cowering outside the kebab shop at 3am in the morning. Then wading inside, once all of the scrapping has been done with bodies lying on the floor. Hands on hips. Warning everyone not to fuck with you.

Sat on the IKEA rug, 20cms from the telly. On the off chance of a brief glimpse of some quim, gaping out from a gap in the shorts of some stretched-out high-lunging Japanese vixen? Is this what life has been reduced to???